When we were filming 'The Darkest Hour,' we didn't even know what

"When we were filming 'The Darkest Hour,' we didn't even know what the aliens were going to look like, we didn't even have a graphic reference. So it was definitely a big challenge to sell those kind of extreme moments when you're just generating them from your own imagination." These words from Olivia Thirlby bring forth a powerful reflection on the nature of imagination in the world of creation, particularly in the realm of acting and storytelling. Thirlby speaks of a time when the actors had no visual reference for the aliens they were meant to face, and yet they were tasked with portraying moments of extreme fear, tension, and awe. They had to summon their own visions of the unimaginable and give life to them through their performances. This, in essence, is the power of imagination—the ability to create something from the depths of the mind and bring it to life in such a way that others can feel its truth.

Throughout history, great artists and storytellers have relied on the same technique. In ancient Greece, when the great playwrights like Sophocles and Aeschylus wrote their tragedies, the gods and monsters they created were often depicted not in tangible forms, but in the minds of the audience. The gods and heroes of these plays were evoked not through detailed graphic imagery but through words and imagination. The ancient Greeks understood that the most powerful stories were those that allowed the audience to envision what was not there, to use their own imaginations to fill in the gaps. These artists knew that the truth of the story was not in the external details but in the emotions and ideas that the story stirred within the soul of the listener. This is the art of suggestion, of evoking the unseen, and it is a method that has transcended centuries.

Let us also consider the visionary work of J.R.R. Tolkien, whose The Lord of the Rings was populated by beings and creatures that were unlike anything ever seen before. Tolkien did not simply describe the elves, orcs, and hobbits in minute detail; he relied on the imagination of his readers to bring his creations to life. The reader's mind would conjure the landscapes, the creatures, and the very world of Middle-earth, filling in the gaps with their own understanding of what was possible. The power of Tolkien’s writing lay not in rigid, literal descriptions, but in the invitation to imagine, to build a world in one’s own mind—a world that felt as real as the one they lived in. Thirlby’s experience on The Darkest Hour mirrors this process, where she, as an actor, must conjure up creatures and events with only her imagination as the guide.

The challenge Thirlby speaks of—creating something so vast and alien from the power of one’s own imagination—is not unique to actors. It is, in many ways, the challenge of life itself. Each of us faces moments where we must create from the unseen, where we must draw upon our own internal reserves to face the unknown. It is not always easy to envision what cannot be seen, whether in the pursuit of dreams, the overcoming of obstacles, or the act of forging a new path in the face of adversity. We are often asked to build something from nothing—to trust that the vision we hold in our minds can become real through faith and action. And just as the actors on The Darkest Hour had to sell the fear and drama of a world they could not physically see, we too must summon the courage to make the invisible visible through our actions and beliefs.

This is a lesson that echoes through history. Consider Michelangelo, who, when he began his work on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, was not given a detailed guide or a graphic reference. He was not simply asked to paint something that was already imagined; he was tasked with bringing to life the complex and divine images of the Bible, through a medium that had no clear precedent. Yet, Michelangelo, driven by a vision, relied on his own immense imagination to craft the figures, the scenes, and the emotions of the ceiling. He did not simply paint what was known; he painted what was felt and what could not yet be seen by anyone but him. His vision became the world's reality, a reality that still leaves us awestruck today.

The lesson here is one of faith and courage. Thirlby’s words remind us that even in the absence of external references or guides, we possess the power to create from within. Imagination is not simply the ability to dream; it is the ability to turn those dreams into something real, to make the unseen manifest through action, conviction, and passion. Creation is not about waiting for the perfect moment or the perfect tools; it is about trusting in your ability to bring your vision to life, no matter how alien or unfamiliar it may seem. And in doing so, we connect with the essence of what it means to be human—to create, to imagine, and to bring forth the world we envision.

In our own lives, let us embrace the challenge of creation, not as something reserved for actors or artists but as something that belongs to all of us. Whether we are building careers, relationships, or new ideas, we are constantly called to create from the imagination. Let us trust that our vision, like that of Thirlby and Michelangelo, can shape the reality around us. In doing so, we will not only transform our lives but contribute to the world in ways that others will one day look back upon with awe and gratitude. For the most profound creations often begin with nothing more than a spark of imagination, igniting the world to see, feel, and experience something entirely new.